


in love with your careless moments

by magisterequitum



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Episode Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:26:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1363963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/pseuds/magisterequitum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Aramis rises to his feet, body swaying towards hers and eliminating that small step she'd taken backwards, Anne thinks she can hear her heartbeat under her skin. She leans into him when he reaches for her, calloused fingers stroking her back through the thinness of her gown. </p><p>And then she can hear nothing. The warmth of his breath against her face before he presses his mouth to hers blocks out any other thought that could be spared for the noises elsewhere. It is a blessing to not hear those outside who wish to kill her. It is a blessing to not think of why she is here in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in love with your careless moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [empressearwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/gifts), [hariboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hariboo/gifts).



> Written to expand upon the scene from 1.09. And for Jess and Ari.

It is the easiest thing for her to take the gun from his lap. The weapon is not even heavy, but his gaze on her is. She cannot look away and so she has no idea where she puts the gun, only that it is gone. There's no barrier now between them. Nothing to stop them from kissing again. 

Her mouth already feels heavy and bruised and they'd only kissed once. She wants more though. She wants to know the taste of him, to know if he is exactly how she had thought him; she has thought of him, a lot, more than she should, but it is hard not to when she caught his eyes in court and elsewhere. 

As Aramis rises to his feet, body swaying towards hers and eliminating that small step she'd taken backwards, Anne thinks she can hear her heartbeat under her skin. She leans into him when he reaches for her, calloused fingers stroking her back through the thinness of her gown. 

And then she can hear nothing. The warmth of his breath against her face before he presses his mouth to hers blocks out any other thought that could be spared for the noises elsewhere. It is a blessing to not hear those outside who wish to kill her. It is a blessing to not think of why she is here in the first place. 

The reminder of her barrenness and the cold water as she'd submerged herself tries to sneak back into the forefront of her thoughts. 

She does not let it. It is a blessing to have him. So she takes. 

Anne kisses him back eagerly, sliding her arms under his and around his back, holding him to her. His beard is rough against her chin. His hands, his palms, spanning the sides of her waist. The little noise she makes when his tongue touches her lips. 

Parting her mouth, she follows when Aramis walks them backwards. Her arm gets trapped when he moves his own, hands coming up to cup the side of her face and cradle the back of her head. She does not falter though. Rolling on her toes, she moves with him, changing position so she can tunnel her fingers into his hair. 

He kisses her open mouthed as he tips them backwards towards the bed. He does not settle over her though. Laying her down with ease and a gentleness that breaks the urgency of their movements, he chooses to rest on his side while she stays on her back. 

Anne doesn't let go of him though. Her fingers stroke the side of his face, taking comfort in the sensation of touching his warm skin. 

"Is this alright?" he asks her, breaking the quiet spell that she had purposely immersed herself in. 

She cannot help the smile that touches her lips at his query. He is so thoughtful, her Aramis, and truly a part of her claims him as hers. She has named him the most brave, has told him any woman would be fortunate to have his love. She only wants a part of the magnanimous heart she has seen in glimpses. 

"Very much so," Anne answers in reply, her fingers sliding so she brushes her thumb against his bottom lip. 

Aramis holds her gaze even as his mouth parts and his tongue licks at her thumb. 

Her skin flushes when he bites with gentle teeth, eyes flickering down to watch the gesture. "Aramis," she says on a quick exhale when he bites harder the next movement. 

If they had slowed down, she can feel the urgency begin to build again. She does not want this softness, this drawn out, she wants him and him against her, touching her all over and not just one finger on her hand. 

"Yes?" and this time his question dips into a drawl, a pleased look tipping the corners of his mouth up. 

"I want," she starts to say, drawing her thumb away from his mouth so that it drags on his bottom lip. Her voice falters. She had not thought she would be so shy, and she doesn't think that is truly it. 

He watches her for a moment, and then shifts closer, a rasp against the poor sheets beneath them, hand rising to stroke her face with the back of his knuckles. Soft touches against her cheek, her nose, forehead, chin. "Anything you want, I will give." 

She flushes for a different reason this time, reminded again of his kindheartedness and passion. A talent for killing, but a talent for loving as well. A talent for protecting. Arching her neck, she leans up and whispers against his lips, "Kiss me again, please." 

Aramis smiles. "Gladly." 

Open mouthed and wet, he does, mouth firm against hers, tongue sliding past her teeth. His palm rests steady against her jaw, fingertips dipping down to press against her neck. He kisses her again and again till she's making greedy noises in the back of her mouth. She tugs and pulls on his shirt till he understands what she wants, raising himself up so he can firmly rest on top of her. Her skirts don't allow her to fully spread her thighs how she wants, but it is enough for the moment. 

He's heavy against her. All day she had him pressed against her back as she rode with him. Now she has him holding her down into the bed. She likes this much better, she thinks. His chest solid where it brushes against her still clothed breasts, his hips hit her pelvis. 

Anne's neck stretches back when he leaves her mouth, and she can do nothing but concentrate on breathing in and out as he moves onto her neck. Flicks of his tongue against her skin, wet and hot. 

He kisses her breastbone where her dress dips in its small vee. Calloused fingers stroke the edge of the fabric, above her breast. His eyes are dark, shadowed, the conversation and events from earlier touching him. But he is here with her. When he speaks, his voice is low. "Can I remove this?" 

The sound of his voice brings her chin down so she's looking at him. His eyes are dark, his lips bruised, cheeks flushed red. She wonders if he is a reflection of her, if she looks as wrecked as he. 

His fingers are still touching where her dress parts, and she understands what he means. Blinking, she nods. "Yes." 

Urging her up, Aramis begins with the sash around her waist, loosening it and dispensing with it. He returns to her upper body then, easing the fabric past her shoulders. The air shocks her with its coolness as her dress pools at her waist. Raising her hips, she lets him dispense with it and the rest of her undergarments till she's naked. She hopes that no one will interrupt them. 

She can do nothing but breathe in and out when as she sits bare before him. Her breasts rise and fall, the nipples hardened under her arousal and the chiller air without his body heat against her. 

He looks at her, a long look all over that makes her thighs shift against the bedding and between her legs throb in time with her pulse. Then, he is back to her face, warmth in his eyes. "You are lovely," he says, reaching for her again. Slowly bringing her into his arms. 

Anne winds her arms around his shoulders and neck, playing with his hair as he kisses her. Her breasts press against his chest, the sensation of the coarse cloth making her shift against him for friction. With no barrier, she can raise herself up to rest on his thighs, moving over his lap. 

"This is unfair," she says when she pulls back, plucking at the back of his shirt with her thumb and forefinger. 

He smiles, that quick grin she likes so much, and lets her go, reaching for the hem. "If my Queen wishes." 

"She does," she answers automatically, playing with his jest. 

The shirt goes the way of her dress, to the floor forgotten for the moment. 

Partially undressed, it is her turn to eye him. He lets her, sitting patiently still while she strokes through the hair covering his chest, feeling the strength of his muscles, the scar that curves under his ribs. He wears her gift around his neck. She touches that too, pleased. When she touches his flat nipple, he makes a noise and grasps her waist.

"Let me touch you," he says, but it is more a question. Again he asks her. That it is always a question waiting on her answer and choice buoys her. It is her choice. 

"Yes," she sighs and bows under the pressure from him to lay back down on the bed. 

Aramis does not return to her lips or neck. He kisses between her breasts, the underside of her left, drawing it out till she's moaning. Only then does he take her nipple into his mouth, sucking and adding the tiniest of pressures with his teeth. He does the same treatment to the other. 

It is not enough though, even if it is nice. She aches between her legs, her lower body shifting against the bedsheets. 

He leaves her breasts, kissing her open mouthed down her stomach, sucking at the skin. Not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make it wet and warm. Beneath her bellybutton he moves to the side to lick her hipbone. 

Her breath catches when he looks up the length of her body to catch her gaze, hand stroking the softness of her belly. 

"Please," Anne says before he can open his mouth and waste time with another question, reading the intent and direction of his want. Her husband has never done this with her, but she knows what it is. 

He settles more firmly between her legs, moving her knees outward with a large hand. He strokes the back of her legs before pulling them over his shoulders. 

Her eyes slip close in anticipation. She can hear him though. His body rucking the bedding. Feel him as his beard rasps against the skin of her inner thighs. His nose brushing against the curls covering her sex makes her hips jump. Then she can feel the smile that spontaneous movement gets from him. 

He shushes her, one palm sliding again her thigh in a quieting gesture. 

It is a false soothing because then he kisses her sex, licks her folds. He is not slow then. He does not draw anything out. This is quicker, more heated. His mouth parts her and he abandons one hand's hold on her backside to use his fingers as well. 

She opens her eyes when he sucks her clit between his lips. The ceiling is drab above her, but it is all she can see. Her hands move without hesitation, one jerking down to tangle in his hair, nails against his scalp. The other she makes a fist and bites her knuckles. She cannot be loud, even if the noises crowd and build up in the back of her throat. They are not alone in the convent. 

She pets him where she can as he licks and eases a finger inside her, rubbing at her. Tugs at his hair and strokes the side of his face. He makes enthusiastic noises against her sex, the vibration making her back arch. If she should feel shame, she cannot because he does something that makes the sensation at the base of her spine snap. 

Her climax shakes over her as she bites hard on her hand. 

Anne's breathless when she feels fingers close around her wrist, easing her hand from her mouth. She had not realized she'd released his head, that he'd slid from between her thighs to crawl up her body, that he now looked at her with a face wet from her and eyes with large pupils. 

Her breath comes in choppy exhales as he kisses her bitten knuckles, tongue flicking out over the abused skin. 

When her leg knocks against his own, she is reminded that he is not naked like she. And that he has not found pleasure. "You are still dressed." 

"I am," Aramis agrees, letting her knuckles fall from his mouth, but fingers still soothing the inner skin of her wrist. He has not stopped touching her. She does not want him to. 

"I want you," and she does. She wants him inside her, wants him above her, wants him in the ways that her husband does not want her and she does not want him. This is not duty here. This is pleasure and she aches for it. 

He abandons her for a moment, rising from the bed to divest of his trousers and braies. She does not get long to look because he is back on the bed, knees shifting up to reach her. 

She presses her palms into the muscles of his shoulders when he comes down over her, kissing him hard. Her leg she raises to hitch on the side of his hip. This act she knows, can do. She can lift her hips and rub them against where his cock is hard. 

"Anna." Her name, her given name, finally said from his mouth. Not a title. It is enough to make her kiss him again till her nose knocks against his, her teeth clacking into his. 

"Aramis," Anne moans, letting the noise escape her. Her nails dig into his back when he cups the side of her hip so he can press against her sex. Her next sound is caught against his mouth as he eases his cock inside her slowly. 

He does not look away from her as he thrusts into her, and she cannot either. It is intimate and bearing on uncomfortable, to be so close that she can see the heavy sweep of his eyelashes and the lines of his face, but she does not want to look anywhere else. 

It is easy then, as easy as it had been to kiss him and take the gun from his lap and let him lead her to the bed and say yes. Easy to raise her hips into his, follow his rhythm. Clutch him to her and let her breasts rub against the sparse hair of his chest as he loved her in this bed neither of them would ever be in again. 

Her release this time is a small thing, creeping over her and surprising her, his pelvis bone providing the needed pressure on her clit as the final sensation needed with everything else. His name falls from swollen lips, whispered against the side of his face as he thrust harder into her. 

When he finds his own, it is with a shudder and warm lips on her neck. The cold metal of her gift presses between them. She strokes the sweat slickness of his back, even when he pulls away from her to gather her to his side. 

He does not stop touching her, not even in the morning.


End file.
